


All this and heaven too

by CinnaAtHeart



Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Because I can, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Gift Fic, Healer Hermione, I will admit this got away from me, Lowkey praise kink, Plot With Porn, Praise Kink, Why must this be a rarepair, kind of Dom Hermione, mostly CA:CW compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:04:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7404634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaAtHeart/pseuds/CinnaAtHeart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger is called in a last ditch effort to fix Bucky's head. A drawn out courting process ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All this and heaven too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marvelfan35](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelfan35/gifts).



> FUN FACT this was meant to only be about 3K long. haha dream on Cinna. 
> 
> This is gifted to the delightful [marvelfanuniverse](http://marvelfanuniverse.tumblr.com/), who won first prize on my favourite followers number on tumblr.

When King T’Challa suggests the magic folk, Bucky is hesitant.

“What about Maximoff?” he asks, reluctant to involve a perfect stranger. He’s seen the woman wandering aimlessly through the halls of the palace plenty of times. But T’Challa only shakes his head.

“She expressed discomfort at the possibility of doing more damage.” Steve is worried about her- there’s a wan and listless look about her these days, he tells Bucky. Worse than after her brother died and Bucky doesn’t blame her- everything to do with the Accords was a fucked up mess. So he can understand her reluctance to work on him (and is maybe a little relieved, too). But considering his alternative (he shudders at the thought of surrendering to the cold again, to the ice and snow and dreams of nothingness and everything), it doesn’t take him long to agree with T’Challa’s suggestion. They’ve already exhausted every other option.

The magic folk, the king assures him, are at least professionally trained, and he has connections to some of the best ‘mind healers’ in the world. “She has brought minds back from the brink of madness,” he reassures Bucky, and though he doesn’t really understand the _how_ of it, he’s as least willing to give it a shot.

Because who knows; maybe this Granger woman will be the one to finally succeed where others have failed.

* * *

“Stop fidgeting,” Steve orders him beneath his breath. Bucky stops almost on reflex, but he can’t shake the restless itch beneath his skin.

He’s nervous; this ‘mind healer’ is due any minute now and Bucky is feeling increasingly anxious about her arrival. What do witches even look like? He’s got in his mind a crotchety old crone but Bucky doubts that real life will mirror fiction. But what if she can’t fix him? What if she’s horrible? _God_ \- what if she’s Hydra and she only makes things worse? What if- what it- _what if?_

Steve rests his hand on Bucky’s shoulder and the heavy, solid weight of him is enough to ground Bucky. Enough to let him push his anxious thoughts away and offer his friend a soft smile. Steve returns it easily, gaze encouraging and the tightness in his chest eases slightly.

“She’ll be alright, Buck,” he says slowly and Bucky nods, gaze dropping, like it always does these days, to the void where his arm used to be. He’s still acclimatising to its absence, and he’ll never tell Steve but he almost _likes_ himself better without it. Sure, it’s infinitely harder to do things without it, and he walks kinda funny now with his change in centre of gravity, but he likes the idea of no longer being a weapon. And the lack of constant, headache inducing pain is really something (another thing he’ll never tell Steve).

T’Challa joins them and Bucky and Steve bow their heads- neither are used to dealing with royalty and Bucky is certain that it shows, but T’Challa bears it all with considerable grace, and he smiles at them and nods towards the fireplace. It’s an odd room for them to gather in- more akin to a cosy study than the welcoming hall Bucky had envisioned- but considering everything that’s been happening in the last few weeks he’s willing to keep an open mind. “She will arrive soon,” the King warns them. “Their modes of transport are unconventional at best.”

And, as if to prove his point, the fireplace erupts into bright green flames and a woman promptly stumbles out, leaving behind a trail of grey ash and the faint smell of fire and sulphur.

“Oh dear,” she breathes, glancing behind her. Bucky is half certain his heart is about to jump out of his chest from shock. The woman- Doctor Granger- wipes her hands on her floor-length cape (robes? Bucky isn’t entirely sure what the correct term for them is), leaving a smear of pale grey on the dark fabric, and reaches into her sleeve, pulling out a strip of red wood. “I’m so sorry T’Challla,” she says, flustered, “I forgot how unpleasant international floos are.” And with that, she waves the stick and the grime and dust disappears from her clothes.

Bucky’s eyes almost bug straight out of his head, and beside him Steve makes a soft sound at the back of his throat as she turns around and flicks her stick again and the soot she’d trailed into the room flies back into the fireplace.

“Hermione,” King T’Challa greets the woman and she turns back around, smiling broadly and tucking the stick back into her sleeve. “It has been too long.” Granger shakes the hood from her head and embraces T’Challa, and Bucky takes a moment to study her. She’s a head shorter than the man, her hair drawn back in a messy bun, curly hair straying from its confines.

“It’s good to see you, Kind T’Challa.” Her smile fades. “I’m so sorry to hear of the loss of your father. King T’Chaka was a generous king and a good man. His death is tragedy.”

T’Challa bows his head, expression closed off. “Thank-you. But I did not ask you here to heal my pain.”

The corners of her lips quirk and finally her attention passes onto the rest of them- Bucky, Steve, Wanda and Sam. Her gaze lingers on him, so sharp he feels as though all his faults have been laid bare before her. “So I hear,” she says, and strides over to him, holding out her hand. “Healer Granger, but I’d prefer Hermione.”

Her hand when he takes it is soft and warm, but her grip is startlingly strong and Bucky doesn’t miss the way her gaze doesn’t linger on his left side.

“It’s a pleasure, Ma’am,” he rasps, and smiles at her. Granger pinks ever so slightly and Bucky files the information away for later.

“I look forward to working with you, Sergeant Barnes.”

He huffs a mirthless laugh, but widens his grin all the same, ignoring how cold his hand now feels. “You and me both, doc.”

“I have faith- with any luck I’m sure we can pick out those trigger words of yours,” she tells him with an encouraging smile and Bucky nods silently as T’Challa joins the witch, resting a hand on her elbow. Something in Bucky’s stomach flops unpleasantly at the casual sign of familiarity and he wonders what their history is; the enigmatic King had told him little about how he came to know Granger. Only that she was trustworthy, with a brilliant mind and a record of hard-to-heal cases under her belt.

“Hermione,” he says in that lilting accent of his. “These are my comrades and friends; Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff and Samuel Wilson.”

She shakes each of their hands in turn and Bucky is struck by how benign the whole thing is. Now that he’s met her he’s not entirely sure what he was expecting of a witch… but it wasn’t this.

With the niceties done and dusted, their group disperses quickly, with T’Challa leading Granger away for a tour of the palace- but not before she secures a meeting with Bucky for tomorrow.

And that is how Bucky Barnes, former Winter Soldier, met Hermione Granger, war hero and the brightest witch of her time.

As far as first meeting go, fairly forgettable, really.

* * *

There is a knock on his door at ten the next morning, the sound loud and purposeful.

Bucky pauses in his pacing, looking up to stare. His stomach is a rolling pit of anxiety; he’d agreed to meet Granger in his room for the session but now that the time’s come he can’t help fretting about all the things that could go wrong.

Steve, sprawled across on the chaise lounge, looks up from his novel. “You gonna get that?”

He swallows and spins abruptly on his heel, striding over to the door and swinging it open. Granger blinks at him, hand raised mid-knock. “Er- hello.”

“Doc,” he greets her, bowing his head in a mix of shyness and respect. She’s dressed casually today, in tight jeans and a flowy blouse that looks lovely on her slender form. Granger’s cheeks pink slightly at his appraisal but she squares her shoulders, regaining her footing easily enough.

“You’re free to call me Hermione.”

He glances away. Free or not, the name feels too familiar. The silence between them grows too prolonged and he remembers that social protocols demand he replies. “Uh- Bucky. You can call me Bucky.”

Gr- _Hermione_ \- smiles brightly at him, and both of them ignore the rather pointed cough from his room; the one he instinctively knows is Steve trying to mask a laugh. “Bucky it is then,” she says, sounding pleased. She glances over his shoulder to the room belong. “May I- ah- may I come in?”

Steve laughs/coughs again and Bucky is filled with the mortifying certainty that his ears have turned pink in mute embarrassment. He moves jerkily away from the door, thanking every deity he thinks might be watching that his hair is long enough to him the worst of it.

He hovers at the doorway for longer than is strictly necessary, and behind him he hears Hermione greeting Steve. He answers her warmly, and Bucky ruthlessly squashes the unfamiliar jolt in his stomach when he turns to catch the man kissing the healer on her cheek. Smooth bastard.

“I’m just here for moral support,” Steve explains. It’s true, certainly; Bucky _did_ ask him here as support. But it seems all three of them are content to ignore the elephant in the room that is the contingency plan for if Bucky’s triggered.

Hermione nods and sets a threadbare beaded bag down on the desk. She beckons him over to sit at it and he does so reluctantly. “That’s quite alright,” she murmurs, and tugs her stick ( _wand_. It’s called a _wand_ ) from out of her sleeve, waving it and conjuring a chair from thin air. He shares a wide-eyed glance with Steve. “I will ask you not to touch or interfere in any way whilst the session is proceeded however. Interruptions run the risk of wreaking significant havoc on one’s memory.”

Bucky swallows nervously.

“You sure this is safe, Doc?”

Hermione smiles at him encouragingly. Steve retreats back to his sofa. “As safe as any process of rummaging through one’s mind can be.”

“That’s a real comfort,” he drawls, determined to mask his nerves, though he’s surprisingly okay with the thought of her in his head. “You really know how to reassure a guy.”

Hermione smirks at him. If she catches onto his ploy then she knows better than to make a remark. “I’ll have you know, my bedside manner is top notch.”

He shakes his head. “I pity them magic folk then.”

She huffs a laugh and sits down in her magic chair. “You and I both.”

He laughs along with her, and it’s odd, but without even thinking about it he finds he’s loosemed up, the anxiety in his guy easing just enough for him to feel human again. “So how’s this gonna work?”

Hermione sits straight-backed in her chair and regards him seriously. “I’m going to enter your mind with a-” she grimaces, “well, here I’d usually explain the finer details of the spell I’m going to use, but-”

“It’d fly over my head. I get it doc; give me the dummy’s guide.”

Hermione breathes out slowly, cheeks puffing out as she visibly gathers her thoughts. “The long and short of it is, I will insert my consciousness into your mind and very carefully search for evidence of tampering. The mind- it can be a bit chaotic at times, but for the most part things- _memories_ \- are usually grouped together with a logical order. But a mind that has been tampered with will often have gaps and broken connections, preventing you from recovering those memories.”

Bucky swallows. “Can they be recovered?”

She smiles. “Usually. It’s been my experience that unless forced to, the brain rarely discards material. Often it is simply a case of reconnecting pathways or correcting them.”

“And what about triggers? Words that can make you… do things. Things you don’t want to do?”

Hermione doesn’t even blink. “Those are pathways that have been re-routed. They may not be immediately obvious, but much like recovering memories, it is a matter of repairing or recreating pathways. If necessary, then I will erase the programmed protocols completely. It’s delicate and precise work, and takes time, but I believe that the process should be successful.”

“Will I- will I be awake for it?”

She shakes her head emphatically. “Merlin, no. This kind of work- were you to interfere, even accidentally, could turn you into a vegetable. I’ll put you under for the extent of this session, with your permission, and suppress your consciousness until I have finished.”

He chews on that information. “How many sessions?”

She shrugs. “It depends on how extensive the damage is, and how well hidden the triggers are. But Bucky, before we even begin, I need your permission to conduct this treatment. I cannot conscionably enter your mind without it.”

Bucky regards her for a long moment, feeling cautious. He glances over at Steve, who is very carefully Not Listening. It’s a big jump, to let a stranger do this, but-

_Ice._

_Cold. So cold his flesh burns._

He swallows, pushing away the memories. This is his last shot and Bucky won’t lie to himself- he’s getting desperate. He doesn’t want to go back to the ice. If this woman holds the key to his recovery, then he’ll take what he can get, even if it runs the risk of him being turned into a vegetable. Chances are his mind will heal again anyway. And Steve is here. Bucky trusts Steve.

“Okay,” he says softly. There is no answering look of triumph or satisfaction in Hermione’s eyes; only a professional understanding that he lets himself take comfort in. “You have my permission.”

“Very well,” she murmurs, and points her wand at him. Despite the stick-like nature of the thing, Bucky can’t shake the sensation of being held at gunpoint.

“Uh-”

“If you could lie on the bed, it would be much appreciated.”

He grudgingly sits on be bed, feeling like a bit of an idiot as he lowers himself onto the covers but Hermione doesn’t appear to care. He breathes out slowly, and rests his hand on his stomach. “Alright, I ready.”

Hermione smiles down at him. She has a very lovely smile, he thinks to himself, somewhere in the moment between her quiet ‘ _stupefy_ ’ and the black that swallows him whole.

* * *

Bucky wakes slowly, the soft sounds of a woman talking reaching his ears as though muffled. He feels warm, but impossibly tired, as though he’s run a marathon or three.

“-cky. Bucky,” she says again, and something warm touches his face. He grabs for it on instinct, the shock of the touch making his eyes flash open. The surprised eyes of Hermione stare back at him and his hand tightens around hers without him even realising. She presses her lips together tightly, blinking at him. It takes longer that it should to realise he’s holding her hand.

She smells of lilies.

“Sorry Doc,” he rasps, and lets go of her hand slowly, his skin feeling cold again. Hermione retrieves her hand with a brief, flustered smile.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, glancing between her and Steve as she straightens, “Thanks… did it- did it work?” He doesn’t feel much different, certainly, and he can’t shake the sinking feeling in his chest. If it didn’t-

But Hermione is smiling brightly at him and Steve looks pleased as punch. “The session was extremely successful, Bucky-” he really shouldn’t like how she says his name, but he does, “- it was as I suspected- many of your neurological pathways were altered or removed, but the memories are for the most part recoverable.”

“Tell me Buck,” Steve asks, looking pleased as punch, “what did Peggy do when you tried to lay the moves on her in Azzano?”

Bucky opens his mouth, certain he’ll remember nothing, but instead the memory rises unbidden to the forefront of his mind. The flawless recall takes him by surprise. “She acted like I wasn’t there... I felt like a ham.”

Steve laughs, eyes glittering. “You looked like one too. Some things never change.”

Bucky flips him the bird, remembering too late that there’s a lady present.

 

* * *

 

She meets with him twice a week.

The sessions, Bucky learns quickly, are somehow both painless and gruelling. He wakes from each feeling more tired than the last, but shows no physical signs of how taxing it feels. He finds himself stuck in an odd limbo between feeling no different from usual, and the frankly shocking progress of memories filling his mind; good _and_ bad (and some of his memories… when they get bad, they get _really_ bad. The past week and a half has been plagued by nightmares). Hermione says their progress is heartening, but it’s not until the seventh session that she finds any more triggers.

She wakes him early, looking apprehensive. The expression seems so foreign on her face and puts him immediately on the defensive.

“What is it? What did you find?”

She’s quiet for a long and weighted moment, eyes roving his face with concern. “I’m quite certain they’re triggers of some kind.”

Bucky’s stomach seems to drop and he swallows back his unease. He wishes Steve were here, but he’d stopped coming after the third session. “What kind?”

Hermione licks her upper lip and despite the circumstances it takes every ounce of his training to stop his eyes from tracking the movement. “There’s a ‘no witnesses’ trigger, one that I suspect would put you into a state of unconsciousness and a… a-” she breaks off, and Bucky is struck by the familiar look upon her face- the eyes of someone who has fought hard won battles. Sad eyes. “It’s a self-destruct trigger,” she manages eventually, sounding angry, and Bucky flinches despite himself. “In the event that you outlived your usefulness, the protocol would have you eating a bullet or three.”

He grits his teeth and looks away, eyes prickling. He’d suspected there would be triggers like that, but to actually _know_ is something else entirely.

The hand tentatively touching his startles him, and Bucky turns back to her. Hermione’s gaze is searching, but Bucky is confused. “Why didn’t you get rid of them?”

“I didn’t want to tamper with them before talking to you about them,” she squeezes his hand once before removing it, and Bucky finds himself wishing she’d touch him again; even something as inconsequential as _that_. “They’re more complicated than I’d originally anticipated, and I wondered if you’d like me to disable them or erase them completely.”

“But you can fix them, right? You can undo them?”

Something close to offence flickers across her face. “Of course I can.”

He smiles at her weakly. “Then do it Doc. Get rid of them. But- uh- I think you’d better get Steve, just in case.”

She sets her jaw and nods once, glancing away as she holds out her wand. “ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” she says clearly, a look of utmost concentration on her face. Bucky watches, entranced, as an otter- silver and ethereal- materialises before them. It frolics between them, and Bucky sucks in a sharp breath when in brushes against him and the sensation of _warm_ and _happy_ washes over him, heady and disarming. He laughs, awed, as it rubs its head into his hand, sending warm, tingly shivers up his arm. It rambles over to Hermione, eliciting a fond smile from the woman as she runs her hand lightly across its back.

Bucky decides, in this quiet moment, high on whatever magic the otter is made from, that she has never been more beautiful.

“Steve,” she tells the otter, her voice strong and sure, “Bucky and I need you. We found triggers.” Message received, the creature runs away, straight through the wall of his room.

The room falls silent for a moment, and Bucky breathes out carefully as the floaty feeling slowly dissipates. “What _was_ that?”

“My patronus,” she explains, cheeks tinted that familiar and pleasing shade of pink. “It’s formed by the use of happy memories. It’s meant to fight dementors- they’re a kind of magical creature, very nasty- but they can be used for sending messages too, when one feels particularly lazy.”

He laughs at that, and Hermione joins him. “That’s some pick me up.”

She beams at him. “It is, isn’t it?”

They fall into a companionably silence as they wait for Steve. Bucky wonders what she does between sessions- she doesn’t stay here, he knows that at least. Does she work at a hospital? Does she have a family? A husband? A cursory glance at her left hand says no, and Bucky’s not entirely sure how he’s meant to process the relief that comes with the observation. He quickly realises that he knows next to nothing about Hermione Granger.

“Doc,” he says slowly, an impossible, ludicrous plan forming in his mind, “after all this, would-”

Steve, the absolute _bastard_ , chooses that exact moment to burst through his doors, startling the shit out of both of them. His eyes are wide and Bucky takes some small comfort in the spooked look on his face. “Hermione _what the hell was that?_ ”

The woman in question opens her mouth, stunned. Bucky takes ‘pity’ on her and turns on Steve, raising an unimpressed brow. “It as a _patringus_ , Steve. What did you think it was?”

“Patronus,” Hermione corrects him, still looking a little dazed. Bucky wonders if it’s a reflex reaction for her and smirks at both of them.

“Patrinus, that’s what I said Doc.” He ignores the insulted sound Hermione makes, and hides his rampant amusement behind his smirk. “We needed you to get off your ass; Doc found triggers.”

Like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water on him (and thanks to Hermione, Bucky now has the vivid memory of exactly that happening to their drunken asses on more than one occasion), Steve sobers. “You have?”

Hermione, fully recovered from Steve’s dramatic entrance, nods decisively. “Bucky wanted you here as a precautionary measure.”

He smiles at Steve- more a grimace really- and nods over at his customary chair. “You know the drill by now Stevie. Sit down, shut up, and let the Doc do her work.”

Steve looks between them, bemused, but does as he’s told. There is a moment of stillness, before he motions to the two of them. “By all means, don’t let me interrupt.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at the man’s snark, but lies back down on the bed. “Best get on with it Doc,” he tells Hermione, and she nods, sitting in her magic chair beside the bed. She opens her mouth as if to say something and Bucky watches, waiting for her to say something but Hermione only shakes her head minutely, resolve visibly hardening in her eyes.

He can’t shake the disappointment when she raises her wand. “Sleep tight,” she murmurs with a smile, and Bucky closes his eyes as she whispers that now familiar word and he loses consciousness.

 

* * *

 

The removals of his remaining triggers over the next week lift a weight from Bucky’s shoulders that he’d never even realised he had. Progress seems to jump in leaps and bounds; the changes he once thought too subtle to pinpoint now substantial enough to easily catch. Bucky finds himself more prone to smiling and laughing. Less likely to be caught up in panic attacks and fits of mutism. In response, his sessions with Hermione shrink to once a week, giving him time to ‘recalibrate’ his brain and come to terms to with the onslaught of new, _clear_ memories. Bucky counts the days between each session, waiting for the familiar knock and the sight of her face on the other side of his door.  

He still has his bad days, of course, when the ghosts of his past- bloody memories that clamour for his attentions- haunt him to such an extent that he can barely muster the energy to get out of bed, but they become less common and easier to recover from as the weeks go on.

And through it all, Hermione is a steadfast and non-judgemental presence. He wonders at her; wonders at the decades worth of memories she must come in contact with and yet every time he wakes she greets him with a soft, tired smile and a warm hand on his. He becomes more entranced by her as the weeks progress; Hermione is a fiercely intelligent and lively woman, with an eagerness to share her knowledge and experience; always willing to answer his questions.

And yet…

_And yet._ Bucky realises quite early on that she rarely- if ever- speaks about her personal life. He knows next to nothing about her, really, and yet he feels as though he’s memorised the sound of her laugh and the curl of her smile a million times over. He _knows_ Hermione. Knows her well.

(It doesn’t take a genius to work out that he likes Hermione to a great extent)

Even so, it’s not until Hermione finally declares him clean of triggers that he decides to finally act upon his attraction. There is of course, the small obstacle of _finding_ her. He knows that unlike the rest of his motley crew of friends, Hermione doesn’t _stay_ in Wakanda (probably because she’s not on the UN’s most wanted list), which certainly puts a dampener on things.

With the news of the all clear for Bucky, Steve and T’Challa decide to hold a party to celebrate, which Bucky both resents and appreciates in equal measure. On the one hand, he has to _socialise_ , which he doesn’t do terribly much these days. On the other, there is the possibility of Hermione attending ( _please God let her attend_ ).

The party is only a relatively small get together- just the remnants of the Avengers from Steve’s side of the war, T’Challa, Natalia and the entire contingent of the Dora Milaje- who, as it turns out, are all _terrifyingly_ capable of holding their liquor. Still, it’s big enough that pre-treatment, he would have headed for the hills at the first sign of music and revelry. The lively sounds of jazz and swing now only fill him with a joyful sense of nostalgia and Bucky’s quick to try out long-forgotten dancing skills on Steve. They dance around the room clumsily- Steve, because he’s always been a terrible dancer, Bucky, because he’s still getting the hang of dancing with one arm- and their friends cheer them on, clapping and hollering at the ‘golden oldies’ with enthusiasm.

Bucky watches the room as he dances with anyone who’ll let him (Barton, as it turns out, is an excellent dancer), eyes peeled for Hermione. He’s almost given up on seeing her, sulking around the food table with Barton when the doors open one last time and there she is, looking breathtaking in a light blue sundress that compliments the rosiness of her cheeks and the slope of her shoulders. Bucky smiles dumbly at the sight of her and his miniature burger misses his mouth completely, smearing grease and barbeque sauce across his cheek.

Barton guffaws at his clumsiness and Bucky glares at him, cheeks warming. “You saw nothing.”

He snickers. “Didn’t I? Because I could have sworn-”

“ _Nothing_ , Barton,” Bucky growls, his gaze sliding back to Hermione as though magnetised. Absently he remembers to wipe his face with the back of his hand. “There was nothing to see.”

Still chuckling, Barton follows his gaze to Hermione and lets out a low whistle of appreciation. “The Doc cleans up nice,” he remarks, sounding impressed. Bucky would frown at him, but he’s too preoccupied by his ungentlemanly gawping.

“She always looks nice,” he murmurs. Barton chuckles again.

”Man, Steve wasn’t lying.”

He glances at the archer sharply. “What?”

Barton just sniggers. “You’ve got it bad, dude.”

Bucky’s gaze wanders back to Hermione, almost against his will. He wants to be angry, but the sight of Hermione talking and laughing with a rather awe-struck Wanda is enough to quell his temper. “I do,” he confesses, and he’s mildly embarrassed by how much effort it takes to return his attentions back to Barton, who only smirks at him like the asshole that he is. “What do I do about it?”

Barton snorts, squinting at him as though trying to work out whether Bucky is bullshitting him or not. His eyes widen with horror when he realises that he isn’t. “Wooow,” he breathes out, and Bucky fights the urge to punch him. “I did _not_ expect the day would ever come when the _Winter fucking Soldier_ asked me for dating advice.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow, irritation and hurt marring his once good mood. “Forget it,” he snaps, turning to leave. Barton yelps and grabs his sleeve.

“Shit- wait- _Barnes_.” Bucky pauses, turning back to glare venomously at the archer. Barton blanches but doesn’t back down. “I’m sorry man- ignore me, really. I’m just an asshole.” He laughs uneasily. “You should- uh- go ask her for a dance.” Bucky stares at him flatly, but Barton carries on, gaining steam now that he’s not about to be eviscerated. “Go flirt with her. Live a little, you know? You only live once, right?”

Bucky laughs bitterly. “Funny,” he murmurs, turning away and eyeing the witch as she talks animatedly to Wanda, “but it doesn’t really feel like that from here.”

He leaves Barton, wandering across the room towards Hermione. Her conversation falters when she catches sight of him and Wanda, sensing something is about to go down, quietly bids Hermione farewell, melting into the background (or perhaps, Bucky just perceives her doing so, his attention so securely grabbed by the sight of Hermione).

“Bucky,” she greets him with a wide smile. Her eyes regard him warmly, and something in his chest flutters at the sight of her. It’s been a week since their last session and he’d not realised how much he’s missed her until this very moment.

“Doc,” he rasps, and not for the first time wishes he still had the charm of the _old_ Bucky. “Glad to see you could come.”

Hermione tilts her head, shrugging in a way that brings his attention to her bared collarbones. “I couldn’t just abandon my favourite patient.”

He smiles, almost against his will, though nerves still churn in his gut. “Thank you, for everything. Really, Doc; you’ve saved me.”

Her smile dims, but there’s a content look in her gaze. Hermione takes his hand gently, squeezing his fingers as though they’ve never been used to kill innocents. “I was happy to help,” she says thickly, and Bucky will be damned if he ever lets Hermione tear up in front of him again.

“Do you want to dance?” he blurts out before he can stop himself.

She blinks up at him in surprised pleasure, gaze moving past him to watch Sam and one of the Dora Milaje tear around the room at speeds which are frankly terrifying. Who’d have thought Wilson would be a dancer. “You’re not going to dance with me like _that_ , are you?” she asks teasingly and Bucky rolls his eyes. He squeezes her hand, wondering if she ever even realised that she never took it back.

“Unfortunately, I’m an arm short for those kinds of moves.”

A laugh blurts from her mouth and he watches with no small degree of amusement when she blushes, eyes widening in horror. “Oh Merlin, I’m sor-” she catches sight of his face and scowls, slapping him lighting in the chest with her free hand. “You were making a joke.”

“I was,” he smirks. Hermione ‘ _tch’_ es at him.

“Cheeky,” she chastises him with feigned ire and he snickers.

“But really. Would you like to dance with me?”

Hermione straightens her shoulders and looks him straight in the eye. “Yes,” she says with a conviction that makes Bucky’s heart sing. “I’d love to.”

He grins and leads her out onto the floor, directing her easily where to put her hand on his shoulder; the other he grips securely, relishing the warmth of her and the ever present scent of lilies. Hermione is unfamiliar with the dances, but a quick learner (and still miles better than Steve), and it’s not long before they’re spinning around the room, laughing and giggling at their missteps and occasional stumbles, for song after song after _song_. The rest of the people in the room fall away; all Bucky is aware of is the music and Hermione, laughing and smiling and leaning into him, swaying with the music, letting him lead her through unfamiliar steps and twirling beneath his outstretched arm.

He’s never been happier.

The music eventually morphs to a slow song, the sedate rhythm thrumming in his chest and it’s almost second nature to pull Hermione closer. She follows, pressing against him as though depending upon him to hold her up and he smiles, feeling laugh-drunk and giddy.

“I’m glad you came along,” he murmurs, ignoring the unsubtle ‘thumbs up’ Steve sends him from across the room.

“You mentioned,” Hermione replies with a wry smile. She’s very close, he realises suddenly. Close enough that he could brush his lips against hers, if he so wished. Hermione might want it too, Bucky thinks, catching the expectant look in her dark eyes and the upwards tilt of her face, lips curling at some unknown joke. He leans forwards and her breath stutters, eyes fluttering closed, only half-realising that they’ve stopped mo-

“ _Get a room, you two!_ ”

They break apart, glancing wide-eyed around the room, hearts racing. Bucky’s eyes narrow when he catches sight of Steve, grinning like a loon at him, looking far too smug for his own good. “Oh fuck you, Rogers,” he growls, scowling fiercely. So close. He’d been _so_ _close_.

Steve cackles with laughter, and beside him Hermione glares. She reaches into the front of her dress, pulling out her wand and waving it at Steve in one smooth movement. Steve’s laughter abruptly falls silent, and Bucky snickers at the sudden look of affronted confusion on his idiot face as he tries to speak.  

“C’mon,” she urges him, slipping her wand back down the front of her dress and hurrying towards the exit, “before he works out what I did.” Bucky lets her drag him out the doors, still laughing.

“Oh man- _Doc_ \- what did you _do?_ ”

Hermione looks up at him from beneath her lashes, smirking. “Just a silencing charm. It’ll wear off in about five minutes.”

He giggles, the muscles on his face beginning to hurt from how much he’s been smiling. “Shame it couldn’t last longer.”

“Oh it could,” she tells him flippantly and Bucky giggles again. She’s still leading him, he realises.

“Where are we going?”

Hermione coughs primly, cheeks turning that wonderful shade of pink again. “Back to my quarters.”

He blinks in confusion. “Why?”

“Well,” she says slowly, and looks up at him with a sly look in her eyes. “He did tell us to get a room.”

Bucky gapes at her, stunned, and stumbles to a stop. He stares down at her in shock. “What?”

Hermione’s face darkens, and for the first time Bucky sees something predatory in her warm gaze. She presses her hands firmly against his chest and _pushes_ , forcing him to stumble backwards until his back touches the cold stone wall of the corridor. Bucky swallows, wide eyed and nervous all over again, but for a completely different reason as she pins him against the wall with her body. It’s as though she is a completely different person, and part of him _loves_ it.

“I said,” she murmurs, and her hands glide up over his chest to cup his face and tangle in his hair, “I’m taking you back to my room, so I can fuck you like I’ve wanted to for the last eight weeks.”

And with that, Hermione drags him down so she can press her lips against his, with a softness that belies the raw force in her gaze. Bucky goes pliant in her hold, eyes fluttering shut as the witch’s lips move insistently against his. He gasps when she nips lightly at his lower lip, and all but melts when her tongue ventures further. She tastes sweet- inexplicably like bananas- and he happily lets her have control, content to lose himself in the smell and taste and _warmth_ of her.

“I’ll admit; this is a surprise of the best kind,” he gasps when she finally pulls away and Hermione laughs breathily.

“It always is,” she smirks up at him with kiss-roughened lips and Bucky’s stomach flops excitedly. “Now come along.”

“Wait!” He reels her back for another kiss, just because he can. Hermione hums happily against his lips, licking into his mouth in a way that makes his blood sing.

She pulls back eventually, looking debauched but determined, pupils blown wide. “Merlin you’re beautiful,” she sighs, and Bucky smiles at her dumbly. She gives him a soft peck in reward. “I’d apparate you straight back to my room, but I’m afraid T’Challa has anti-apparition wards on the palace.”

“I don’t know what that means,” he confesses, “but I guess it means you’ll have to lead me there.”

“A tragedy, truly,” she drawls, and with that she leads him through the corridors, ignoring the people they pass, all the while her hand is still firmly clutching at his. It’s a relief to reach her rooms (apparently she’d chosen to stay the night this time around), and they stumble through the door, giggling and clutching at each other like a pair of school children. Hermione pushes him up against the door as soon as they’re inside, twining her hands through his hair as though unable to stop herself and pulling him down to reach her mouth again. Bucky makes a soft sound in the back of his throat and presses his hand firmly against her back, pushing her closer and loving the way she seems to mould her body to his.

“So beautiful,” she breathes against his mouth and Bucky would be embarrassed by the sound he makes, but he’s past the point of caring. “So lovely.”

“ _Hermione_.”

“Wanted you since that second day,” she confesses feverishly, mouth trailing past his mouth to suckle soft love bites against his neck. They’ll be gone by morning. “You answered the door and _oh,_ you were _so sweet_.” Bucky bites his lip at the attention, feeling somewhere between elated and close to tears.

“I could shoot a dime from half a mile away,” he remarks breathlessly, as though somehow he can reassure her that he’s dangerous. Surely she’d know that; Hermione would have had to have seen his memories a million times over. But she just laughs and untucks his dress shirt from his jeans.

“And I could enchant every object in this room to kill you in a dozen different ways,” she replies flippantly, and scrapes her teeth across the tendons in his neck. Bucky leans his head against the door as shivers chase up and down his spine. “So what- _who cares_?”

“Not me,” he gasps, and Hermione purrs in satisfaction. Her hands creep up beneath his shirt, the path of her hands marking lines of burning skin along his ribs as she touches him. The brazenness of her actions is shocking in the best kind of way; Bucky never thought Hermione would be so _bold_. She’s always been so proper; willing to go along with his occasional flirting, certainly, but not once did she give the impression that she might be like _this_ and Bucky is surprised by how Very Much Okay he is with it.

His shirt bunches up from her touch and he gasps, eyes flashing open as Hermione brushes her thumbs across his nipples. She smirks up at him and does it again, eyes glittering as she watches him intently. “You- _ah_ \- you like what you see?” he breathes and she huffs a laugh at his wavering question. When she scrapes a nail across his nipple again Bucky doesn’t bother holding back the pleased noise it elicits.

“I do,” Hermione murmurs, before glancing down at his shirt questioningly. “May I?”

It takes far longer than it should for him to realise what she’s alluding to and he hesitates, torn between wanting to please her and wanting to shelter that part of himself from a little while longer. Her face softens as the pause grows, and Hermione pulls him down for a soft, sweet kiss that doesn’t feel like a punishment at all.

“Oh darling,” she whispers, pressing tender kisses against his cheeks and jaw in quick succession and his eyes burn at the unwavering affection, unaccustomed to it all. “Don’t think you need to please me; take care of yourself first, hey? You want to keep your shirt on then you go right ahead.”

He swallows thickly, staring at her in wonder. Then again, Bucky doesn’t know why he’d expect anything less. “Thank you.”

She smiles and kisses him again. “We’ll go at your pace, Bucky.”

Bucky echoes her smile and in a fit of playfulness presses her tight against him with his hand, grinding his growing erection against her lower stomach as he cops a generous feel of her ass. The warmth and friction the move creates is good, but not enough.

Hermione laughs in delight, hands gripping at his waist. “Well _hello_. I guess someone’s eager after all.”

“Was there ever any doubt?”

“No…” She studies him carefully, gaze roving over his face as though searching for evidence of it. “I suppose not” Hermione’s smile turns wicked, and one of her hands sneak back up to scrape across his nipple and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Do that again?”

“I will,” she tells him lowly and she complies, “but only because you’re such a good boy.”

The sound Bucky makes is frankly obscene. “ _Hermione_.”

“Yes darling?”

“I- ah! _Please!_ ” Bucky doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, too caught up in the burning trail of her clever fingers across his chest, but Hermione obviously understands him well enough. She grinds against his erection once- _twice_ \- before pulling away. Bucky makes a wounded sound in the back of his throat at her departure but she doesn’t go far; merely kneels on the ground before him, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.

“How’s this?”

This? Bucky remembers _this_ , vividly. He remembers that the first time a girl put their mouth on him he nearly came right there and then. Bucky nods wordlessly- eagerly- and Hermione smiles up at his sweetly, nuzzling at his clothed crotch and _God_ but it feels so filthy already and she hasn’t even done anything yet. “Please,” he whispers again, and Hermione’s eyes glow with approval.

“You ask so sweetly,” she says, almost conversationally as her clever fingers work at his belt and undo his fly. She tugs down his jeans (tighter that Bucky is necessarily comfortable but Wanda dressed him) and mouths at his clothed erection. Bucky gasps, the sensation of _wet_ and _hot_ so tantalisingly close. His hand clenches and unclenches, unsure of where to put it and Hermione looks up at him again.

“You can touch my hair, if you’d like,” she tells him and Bucky could almost faint with relief, readily burying his hand into her soft tresses. She hums in appreciation, eyes closing for a moment and experimentally, he tightens his grip. “Not too tightly,” she warns him, eyes flickering open lazily and he loosens his hand a little. She sucks lightly at the base of his erection and Bucky just barely stops himself from whimpering. “Much better. Now be a good boy and let me do my job?”

“Yes ma’am,” he breathes, and watches, spellbound as Hermione reaches into his briefs and pulls out his cock, humming happily at the sight.

“So lovely,” Hermione purrs. “Beautiful.”

Bucky bites his lip. He’s not entirely certain _why_ he likes all the compliments, just that he does. He moans softly when she squeezes his cock, fisting it and running the edge of her thumb up the slit. The friction is wonderful, the heat of her breath against his skin maddening and when she licks a stripe up his cock from base to tip, Bucky feels like his legs will just about collapse on him.

“Ng- _Hermione_ ,” he breathes when she takes him in her mouth, suckling on the head. His mind fills with sensations of _hot_ and _soft_ and _wet_ as she grips at his hips and deepthroats him, gagging slightly at his length. He makes a high-pitched, wounded sound, eyes rolling back and his hand tightens in her hair despite himself. Hermione pulls back and does it again. He closes his eyes, the sensations almost overwhelming, and Hermione pulls off him with a wet pop.

“Keep your eyes on me,” she orders and Bucky complies without question, opening his eyes and looking down at her with what much surely look like worship on his face. “There’s a good boy,” she murmurs, eyes glittering, and she sucks at the head of his dick in reward, tonguing at the slit. The muscles in his belly tighten. Bucky wonders if blowjobs were ever like this in the forties; he can’t remember clearly to be sure.

Without warning, Hermione deepthroats him again, and one of her hands sneak down to tug at his balls. Bucky moans loudly at the dual sensation, pleasure running all the way down to his toes.

“I’m not- _ah_ \- not gonna last long if you keep doing that,” he stutters and Hermione just raises her brows in challenge and _swallows_ and Bucky almost comes undone right then and there. By some miracle of nature he manages to keep himself together, and Hermione takes her mouth off him with a wet _pop._ Bucky whimpers.

“Take your trousers off and get on the bed,” she orders him again and Bucky stumbles away from her, all but tearing off his jeans in his hurry. He almost growls when they get caught around his shoes and kicks them off viciously, stripping down until he’s wearing nothing but his shirt.

When he turns around, he almost drops to his knees in worship.

Hermione stands before him, naked as the day she were born and she is _beautiful_ , all slender limbs and pale, creamy skin and lovely breasts. He cock twitches at the sight of her and he climbs onto the bed before his legs collapse beneath him. She stalks towards him, breasts bouncing slightly at the movement and he swallows back the lump in his throat.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes and Hermione preens before him, touching his cheek to kiss him again. His hand reaches up unbidden to cup her breast and rolls her soft nipple between his thumb and forefinger almost on muscle memory alone. Hermione sucks in a sharp breath at the touch and the kiss turns heated as she licks into his mouth. Bucky does it again, marvelling at the way she seems to tremble beneath his touch, nipple turning hard between his fingers.

“Enough,” she growls, and pushes him down, climbing on top of him boldy. Bucky breathes out slowly as she grinds herself against his tantalisingly and he grips at her rump again, holding her in place as he grinds back, chasing pleasure he hasn’t felt in eons. Experimentally, he slides his hand down between her legs, testing her wetness; they come back slick and he wishes he had both hands to touch her with. Hermione shudders, breath hot against his neck.

She reaches down, knocking his hand away to grab his cock. He bucks up into her touch and moans, biting his lip as Hermione rubs him against her pussy, the heat of her maddening but he restrains himself. Finally, she seems satisfied with her teasing and she lines his cock up, lowering herself down slowly and Bucky feels like he’s been punched in the gut. She’s so _tight_ and his fingers tighten around her waist as he struggles not to blow his load then and there.

“So lovely,” Hermione purrs again when she’s fully seated, stroking his face as though they weren’t connected in the most intimate way possible. “So good.” Bucky’s skin is _burning_ and her hand trails down his body, scraping hard over his covered nipples and he bucks into her against his will. Hermione moans, throwing her head back and Bucky is graced with the glorious view of her stretched around his cock, body bowing backwards, nipples hard. She lifts herself up, his dick almost slipping free before she lets gravity take its course, sliding back down. Hermione moans again, picking up pace.

He loses himself in the rhythm of it, his world dissolving down to the filthy slap of their bodies together, the unrelenting grip of her pussy around him, her tits bouncing as she moves over him and the pleasure that coils in his gut, pressure growing with each agonising, wonderful minute that passes. He loses himself in the feel of her breasts in his hand and Hermione’s creeps down her body to flick at her clit, her bouncing shifting to a gloriously slow grind, propping herself up with her free hand against his chest. He tilts his hips, seeking the perfect angle and her cries turn high-pitched and wavering. “Just like that,” she breathes, gazing down at him with burning eyes. “Just a little longer Bucky. You’re- _oh_ \- doing so well.”

Bucky wishes this sweet torture could last forever, but soon enough her movements turn erratic, losing their grace as she seeks her end. Her body jerks on top of him as she comes, hips twitching uncontrollably as though being controlled by puppet strings and Bucky cries out as her pussy spasms around his cock.

“Hermione,” he warns her, voice tight, “I’m gonna-”

“Do it,” she orders and clenches around him tightly even as her body turns loose and pliant, collapsing over him. He moans and places his feet on the bed, giving himself more leverage as he thrusts into her, chasing his own orgasm. The coiled pleasure in his gut grows, Hermione’s thready breathing loud in his ear.

“Hermione-”

She must know what he’s asking for because she clenches around him one last time, breath hitching and she orders him to “Come.”

His orgasm crashes over him in a wave as his cock pulses inside her and Hermione sighs happily on top of him, stealing his drawn-out moan with a heady kiss that goes on even as his cock softens inside her. When she finally pulls away he sighs, and she rolls off him carefully, wincing a little as he slips out of her.

“That was-”

“Fucking fantastic, I know.”

And somehow, despite what they’ve just done the expletive feels like the most obscene thing he’s heard from her. He giggles, a little hysterical, and Hermione frowns at him in confusion. “What?”

“Nothing,” he snickers, and covers his face with his arm. “It’s just- it’s weird to hear ya curse.”

Hermione leans against him and he wraps his arm around her should on instinct. “I swear all the time,” she says, looking mildly put out.

“Sure ya do, Doc.”

“No really,” she twines her leg between his and all Bucky can think is _thank god_ she’s a cuddler. “I _do_.”

“Mhmm.”

“Shit, piss, fuck, cu-”

He breaks her off with a heated kiss and Hermione makes a soft sound at the back of her throat. “I get it, Doc.”

Her grin is wicked. “How about this one; James Buchanan Barnes, I’d really like to fuck you again, as soon and as much as humanly fucking possible.”

Bucky bites his lip, amusement and contentment bubbling in his veins. “I think I’d like you to do that too,” he murmurs, and kisses her breathless before she can say anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come and chat with me on [tumblr](http://cinnaatheart.tumblr.com/) <3


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